


Impractical Magic

by sneksonaplane



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst probably, Druid Stiles Stilinski, Familiar Peter, M/M, mentions of suicidal ideation, trans guy stiles
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-29
Updated: 2015-08-12
Packaged: 2018-04-11 22:07:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,125
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4454159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sneksonaplane/pseuds/sneksonaplane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The one where the Nemeton awakens Stiles' latent magical abilities and Peter is his familiar/magic werewolf spirit guide. Also using this fic as an excuse to write trans Stiles.</p><p>Set right after season 3.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings for mentions of Allison's death and some angst and depressive/suicidal thoughts on Stiles' part I guess? Warnings for other potentially triggering stuff will be added in the notes of each chapter as needed.

Stiles wakes up naked and laying in the dirt beside the Nemeton. 

"Really? Again?" 

He sits up, counts his fingers just to be sure because even months after being possessed by the Nogitsune, he still needs to check that he's dreaming and not really naked in the woods. 

Nine, ten, eleven. 

Then he does the other test, looks down at his bare chest to find it totally flat even without the help of a binder- the way it should be, when in reality he's stuck with an unwanted pair of breasts. 

He's dreaming. The same dream he's been having at least once a week for the past month, maybe longer- he thinks he can remember having the dream even before the Nogitsune, but then he'd become preoccupied with the nightmares the spirit gave him and had forgotten all about this. About opening his eyes and finding himself naked, the Nemeton the way it probably used to look. Still alive it's huge, a massive oak tree surrounded by a circle of other trees.

The same thing happens every time he has the dream. Stiles doesn't even try to fight it or wake himself up anymore, he just stands and walks to the tree in the center of the grove. The ground, the air around him, his own body, all seem to be....vibrating? That's not the right word, but it's close. Everything is sort of pulsating with this tangible energy, and Stiles always gets the feeling that it's all connected- himself, the Nemeton, the forest around them. They're all parts of a whole and he can feel everything they're feeling. He feels himself touch the bark of the tree and feels himself as the tree, being touched. 

Then the tree explodes. 

Stiles flinches every time, even though at this point he knows exactly when it will happen. He shields his face with his hands as the blown up bits of the tree become birds and fly past him. 

When he lowers his hands, he expects to see the Nemeton as it is in reality, just the trunk of a single dead tree. That's what happens every time. 

That's not what happens this time.

"Holy-" Stiles flinches again and stumbles back, landing on his ass in the dirt. 

There's a wolf standing in front of him where the tree used to be. 

It's a russet brown color, Stiles didn't even know wolves could be that color, and it has the glowing blue eyes of a werewolf. Honestly, the fact that it's a werewolf and not an actual wolf, and the fact that he's dreaming and probably not in any real danger don't make him feel any better. He's still freaked out by the sudden change in what had been a recurring dream, a very predictable recurring dream. 

The wolf is still just standing there, staring at him, and Stiles becomes hyperaware of the fact that he is currently naked, why does he have to be naked in his dreams? He crawls back a few more inches to create space between his naked, vulnerable human self and the wolf, staring up into its eyes the whole time. 

He doesn't get far. The wolf lunges forward seconds later, and then it's on top of him and he can't help but scream in anticipation of having his throat torn out. Pretty soon he realizes the animal isn't actually doing anything, just sort of awkwardly laying on him, keeping him pinned to the ground and staring down at him.

"Uh...hi?" Stiles has always been a nervous babbler. He's no different in dreams. He will talk to this werewolf even if he feels stupid doing it, because it will make him feel better and it will make this dream less unnerving. 

The wolf is panting as it looks at him, mouth open in what Stiles swears is a grin. Is it laughing at him? Oh. He realizes that he's already been rambling, just blurting out his thoughts for the wolf to hear. He'd be embarrassed if this were really happening. 

He's about to request that the wolf get off of him when it disappears. Or, more accurately, it turns into a person. Into a person who looks like Peter Hale.

"What the fuck?!" Stiles yelps because, okay, that is Peter Hale, Peter Hale is naked and on top of him and Stiles himself is also naked and again, why? His subconscious must hate him to give him these dreams. 

Peter is definitely grinning at him now, because apparently he's an asshole even in Stiles' dreams, who knew? And Stiles would be shoving the werewolf off of him but everything is happening too fast and he never really feels in control of his actions in these dreams, and then he's yelling again because there's a burning pain in his side. 

Surprisingly, the pain isn't from Peter mauling him. The werewolf has backed off enough for them to both look down at Stiles' ribcage, right below his heart, where it feels like he's being branded or lit on fire and a series of symbols have appeared on his skin. 

Peter reaches out to touch the symbols, opens his mouth to say something and- 

Stiles jerks awake at the sound of his alarm blaring out from his phone. He doesn't need to check that he's really awake; the feeling of his boobs pressing against the t-shirt he's wearing is proof enough that this isn't a dream. Still, after he silences his alarm he finds himself lifting up his shirt enough to look at his ribs, at the spot where the signs had appeared in his dream. There's nothing there, obviously. 

 

Stiles is still thinking about the dream when he leaves for school twenty minutes later. He adjusts his binder under his shirt one last time on his way out the door, walks to where his jeep is parked in the driveway, goes to open the driver's side door- and stops when he sees the vines that have wrapped themselves over the hood of his car and around the door handle. 

"Are you- seriously?!" He flails angrily, doesn't even have it in him to be shocked anymore. His recurring dream isn't even the strangest thing that's been happening lately. 

For the past few weeks, mother nature has been out to get Stiles. That's the only explanation he has for the ivy that's started to grow on the lawn beside his house, creeping up the outside of the house all the way to his bedroom window and covering his jeep overnight. How can anything even grow that fast? Just yesterday when he'd left the jeep parked in the driveway, the ivy had been a safe distance away, vines growing up the side of the house and on the grass but nowhere near his car, definitely not on top of it. 

It isn't just the ivy, though. Last week his PE class had been forced to run the trail in the forest behind the school, and Stiles had stopped to rest for a minute. When he was ready to start running again, he'd looked down and found brambles growing over his feet. Thorny, prickly brambles that left scratches on his hands when he carefully detangled himself from them. They'd been a solid foot away from him when he'd first come to a stop beside them.

Then there were the animals- a bird perching outside the window right next to his desk while he was in class two weeks ago, chirping incessantly and staring at him. Then proceeding to follow him for the rest of the day- to lunch, to lacrosse practice, all the way home. He'd been so freaked out by that particular event that he'd even told Scott about it, despite wanting to keep all this weirdness a secret until he figured it out himself. Scott had gotten that confused puppy look on his face before suggesting that the bird was a spirit guide or some kind of supernatural creature, and Stiles had seriously considered both possibilities. He'd researched, found out his stalker was a wren but couldn't find any supernatural or magical significance it might have, and it had disappeared after that one day anyways. 

Besides, the bird being some kind of freaky supernatural being wouldn't explain why, when he'd gone to see Scott at the vet's office the day before, he'd taken one look at the dog Scott was working with and had sworn he could read the thing’s mind. Except it had been less like mind reading and more like feeling everything the dog felt, being inside its head and seeing everything from its point of view. He'd been _one with the dog._ There was something wrong with it, though, like it was sick, like there was some disease centered in its stomach, and Stiles could feel that too. The experience would have made him worry, not for the first time, that he was going crazy. But when he’d asked Scott if there was something wrong with the animal, he’d given Stiles a weird look and told him the dog had a tumor in its stomach. 

So, all together that makes recurring dreams about the Nemeton (and apparently about Peter Hale now too?), plants are out to get him, a bird might be out to get him, and he had a spiritual connection with a dog. He still won’t rule out the possibility that he’s losing his mind, because none of it makes sense. 

Stiles doesn’t have time to reflect on his situation or glare at the ivy leaves wrapped around his car. He needs to get to school, so he carefully unwraps two vines from around the handle of his car (seriously, what do they have against his jeep?) and then brushes the longer vines off the hood and lays them all on the grass next to the driveway. 

“There you go, guys. Now you can start growing up the wall and try to reach my window again. That should be fun, right? Just stay away from my car.”

It’s when he’s waving goodbye to the ivy, actually waving at it, that Stiles realizes he just had a conversation with a plant. Another potential piece of evidence that he’s losing his mind. 

 

Stiles spends the whole day thinking about his dream, touches his side occasionally when he recalls the symbols that had been branded onto his skin. A few times he swears he can feel a faint burning again, but there's no way he's about to struggle out of his binder during school just to make sure his skin is still unmarked. So he tries to act normal for the most part even while he's obsessing over everything that’s been happening to him. It seems to work, too, Scott and Kira and everyone else at school treating him like they always do, only giving him the usual amount of “Stiles why are you so weird” looks. 

He might be losing it or have something supernaturally wrong with him again, but he sure as hell isn’t going to let anyone know that and give them something new to worry about. Not until he’s figured it out himself, at least. Fake it til you make it and all that.

 

The only good thing about his current recurring dream is that it seems to have taken the place of his old recurring dream. The one where he watches Allison die. The one where it's really him who kills her, not just the Nogitsune wearing his face. 

He’d given up on sleeping at one point after too many nights of that particular dream, had made it three days without any sleep before basically passing out in class. After Scott had caught him facedown and drooling on his desk in chemistry, he’d given Stiles one of his patented concerned alpha looks and lectured him on getting enough sleep. Stiles wasn’t about to tell him that he wasn’t just a little tired from not sleeping enough, he was actively avoiding it, and he wasn’t going to give anyone yet another reason to be concerned about him. Not after they’d had to deal with him being possessed by the Nogitsune. 

So he’d given in and started sleeping again, even though sometimes he would lurch awake from a nightmare covered in sweat and remembering vividly all of the deaths he was responsible for, all of the suffering he’d caused. Knowing he didn’t deserve to be alive, not when Allison was dead because of him. He’d gotten close to giving up on everything when the nightmares were replaced by the bizarre but altogether less disturbing dream about the Nemeton. Then the incidents with the plants and animals had started, and it had given him something else to focus on. Something he thought he should stay alive long enough to figure out. 

In that sense, at least, all of this, even the part where Peter Hale is now a star in his dreams, isn’t so bad.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which things finally start to make sense for Stiles and he gets a werewolf familiar. Some angst in this chapter (also I experienced so much writer's block while writing this chapter, ended up having to force most of it and as a result I'm super unhappy with how it turned out. I just. don't like the way any of my words sound in this, so I apologize for any suckiness)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning for a brief description of past self harm on Stiles' part, this fictional description of a person self harming in no way describes the various experiences of real life people and isn't meant to imply that everyone's experiences are like those described, everyone's experiences with things like depression and self harm are different, etc

He drives to the animal clinic after school that day, parking in back next to the space already occupied by Scott’s bike. The bell above the door chimes when he walks in, and Scott looks up from the front counter where he’s typing something into the computer.

“Hey!” Scott greets him with his usual cheer, even though he’s also clearly confused as to why Stiles is there, and probably worried that Stiles has some new supernatural disaster to report. Which is understandable, really. 

The werewolf settles on smiling brightly when Stiles waves and grins like nothing’s wrong, approaching the counter and peering behind it in search of Scott’s boss.

“Hey, is Deaton busy? I kind of wanted to talk to him. I’ve just been researching some weird runes and symbols and was wondering if he knew anything about them.” It’s not technically a lie. He did research the symbols from his dream during free period that day, drew them out on a crumpled piece of paper he has in his pocket now to show Deaton. And at this point in his life, Stiles is so good at lying by omission that his heartbeat doesn’t speed up at all. There’s no reason for Scott to be suspicious. 

Stiles is instructed to follow Scott into the back of the building, where he’s led to the room where they keep the cats. Felines still seem to have an instinctive fear of Scott, going into a panic whenever he enters the room, so he tells Stiles to go in and then retreats back to the front room. 

Deaton greets him without even looking up from the cat he’s handling.

“Hello, Stiles. Is there something I can help you with today?”

He opens his mouth to respond but can’t find the words to, because all of a sudden he’s scared and being held by some huge, strange smelling human and everything is loud and he can smell every other creature in the room with him, almost all of them potential threats and _dammit, he’s reading an animal’s mind again?_ It’s the cat Deaton is holding, the one that’s staring at Stiles and has just begun to yowl plaintively, unable to struggle in the vet’s firm hold but making its dissatisfaction known however it can. Which happens to be by meowing like it’s dying, the sound setting off a few of the other cats and making them start to meow too. 

Stiles moves forward on instinct, responding to the way the animal apparently feels when it focuses on him. Like he’s safe, or trustworthy or something, and like it can feel a sense of kinship with him. Enough so that it’s putting up a fuss because it can’t get closer to him. He wishes the cat could actually explain its seemingly reasonless, vague feelings to him, because he has no idea why it would be drawn to him in any way. He’s not even a cat person. That doesn’t stop him from holding a hand out in front of the cat’s face, letting it smell him and then scratching gently behind its ears, his attention seeming to calm the animal instantly. It quiets down, at least. 

Stiles looks up from where he’s stroking the cat in Deaton’s arms and actually focuses his attention on Deaton now. The vet is staring at him, eyebrows raised, wearing his trademark “This is strange but I’m not surprised because nothing can surprise me anymore” expression. “Puma seems quite fond of you.”

He laughs awkwardly, looking away from the vet and down at the cat- Puma, apparently- and changing the subject. “I guess so. Anyways, sorry to interrupt when you’re working, but I’ve been doing some research on magic and mythology and was wondering if you could answer some questions I had, since you seem to know everything about this stuff.”

“I can certainly try. What exactly did you want to ask about?” 

He fishes the folded up piece of paper out of his pocket, holding it up so Deaton can see the symbols he'd drawn on it. "I was wondering if you knew anything about these? I mean, I've looked up runes and magical symbols and stuff like that and they do look kind of like runes maybe? But I don't know which culture they're from or what they mean." 

Deaton looks between Stiles and the paper a few times, and Stiles hates the expression on his face. He’s probably just projecting, but he swears Deaton knows something about where Stiles saw the marks displayed on the paper, or something about what’s been going on with him in general. Stupid Deaton and his stupid all-knowing looks. 

He examines the paper while simultaneously finishing administering some kind of medicine to the cat and putting it back in its cage, where it presses up against the bars and stares longingly at Stiles until he pets it again. Finally Deaton answers, “These symbols look similar to some versions of a Celtic Druid alphabet of sorts, but the Druid language is mostly a spoken one, with writing used to guide in pronunciation. I’m also not familiar enough with any form of the Druid language to tell you what they mean.”

Stiles is sure his face drops in disappointment for a moment before he masks it with a more neutral expression. After Deaton apologizes for not being able to help and Stiles thanks him anyways, he leaves through the back entrance because he doesn’t feel like stopping and talking to Scott on his way out. 

He holes himself up in his room for the next few hours, making a few weak attempts at doing homework until he gives up completely and searches "Druid language." The search brings up articles about different Irish alphabets and languages, along with some vague information on “ancient Druid practices” that don’t even seem accurate or offer sources to back up the information. Stiles changes the search to "Celtic Druid language." Still nothing. Some semi-accurate information, but nothing specific to what he needs to know. 

It's only once it's dark outside and he hears his dad's car pulling into the driveway that Stiles gets up. _That was a complete waste of three hours_ he thinks dejectedly, standing up to stretch and then heading downstairs to see what his dad has brought home for dinner. 

He scarfs down half of the pizza his dad brings home in record time and is on his way back upstairs when his dad calls out his name. 

“Yeah, Dad?” Stiles tries to keep his face blank while he recalls everything he’s done in the past few weeks, if there’s anything especially dangerous or illegal his dad could be upset about. There was that time he bought a pack of cigarettes from some kid at school, since he’s not old enough to buy them himself yet and everyone in town knows the Sheriff’s underage son so a fake ID wouldn’t do him any good. Then there’s the time he broke into Finstock’s office the week before, along with that one time-

“Need any help with your shot?” Oh. His dad’s question puzzles him for a solid minute until he realizes he’s supposed to get his bi-monthly testosterone shot today. He’d started hormone therapy just before Scott had been turned and his life had become overrun with supernatural drama, and at this point it’s such a normal part of his routine that he never forgets about it. Not until today, at least. 

“No, I think I got it. Thanks, though.” He finally answers when he realizes his dad is staring at him expectantly, waiting for a response. Smiling reassuringly at the concerned look his dad gives him, Stiles mumbles something about having a lot of homework to do before hurrying upstairs and locking himself in the bathroom, where his testosterone waits in the cabinet under the sink. He feels bad for brushing his dad off the way he had; the Sheriff had given his son his testosterone shots every month up until recently, since Stiles’ fear of needles has always made him reluctant to actually administer the shot himself. It was only on the date of his last shot that he’d decided to refuse his dad’s help. It had been a few weeks after Allison’s death, the whole pack was still in mourning and, well, Stiles had been a little out of it with guilt, grief, and a lingering sense of terror thanks to everything the Nogitsune had put him through. 

He’d taken up smoking to cope with his anxiety, a habit he still indulged in when he thought he could hide it well enough from his dad. Then one night he’d been sitting by his open window while he smoked, unable to fall back asleep after a nightmare, feeling almost sick with anxiety and he’d just. Reached down with his cigarette and pressed it against his thigh, right below where the hem of his boxers ended. He’d hissed in pain upon putting out the cigarette against his skin, but the burning sensation had grounded him, calmed him somehow. For one second, the world had narrowed down to that sharp, startling pain and he’d forgotten about everything else. It had been nice, in a fucked up way. 

He’d only done it a few more times after that, but it had been enough to leave circular little wounds on his leg, blistered skin that healed fairly quickly but left behind scars he couldn’t explain if his dad saw them. And of course it had been right next to where his testosterone shots were usually administered. So he’d given himself his injection for the first time two weeks ago, and figures he needs to do it again today, just in case his dad is observant enough to notice the circular pink scars on his thigh, still not entirely healed.

He’s efficient with his injection, swiping a disinfectant wipe over his skin, struggling not to cringe away from the sight of the needle sinking past skin and muscle. Once he’s done he heads back into his room and actually does his homework, since all the research he’s done trying to understand his dream has proven to be pointless so far. Maybe it doesn’t even mean anything, and his subconscious is just screwing with him. The dream could even stop happening on its own eventually, he thinks optimistically. 

 

He has the dream again. And again, and again, until he can't stand seeing Peter Hale in his bizarre dreams and possessed plants when he's awake. Nothing he looks up on the internet brings him closer to finding an explanation for everything, there’s no mythology or folklore that comes close to describing his situation. He decides he might not be able to figure things out by himself after all. So he makes a visit to Peter's apartment. 

Stiles has a speech prepared for when he sees Peter. Honestly, he feels awkward after seeing the guy naked so many nights in a row, and he doesn't want to blurt out anything embarrassing. He'd spent an hour coming up with questions for the wolf and memorizing what he would say. 

He forgets all of it the moment Peter opens the door to his apartment, ends up blurting out "Man, am I glad you're not naked. I mean, seriously, it wasn't creepy enough when you haunted Lydia that one time? Now you have to haunt my dreams naked? Why?" 

Peter just looks like he's fighting a smile, and that's not fair. Not when Stiles is freaking out and losing his mind. He opens the door wider and steps aside, inviting Stiles in with a wave. 

"Hello to you too, Stiles. Obviously we have a lot to discuss." 

Stiles has never been inside Peter's apartment before, so he can't help looking around when he walks inside. It's nice, less barren looking than Derek's loft but still minimalist and everything seems expensive, from the glass coffee table to the leather armchair Stiles sprawls out on. 

Peter is close behind him, sitting down on the other couch and casually asking, "So, would you like something to drink? Water? Tea, maybe?" 

"Dude. You- dude!" 

He splutters, wondering why he's even surprised by the wolf’s nonchalant attitude. Seriously, Peter is a sociopath. Sighing, Stiles shakes his head and talks slowly, cautiously.

"Have you been having any...unusual dreams lately? And can you explain why I've been having weird dreams, with you in them?" 

He half expects Peter to laugh or remain off topic just to be a dick, but the wolf actually looks a little more serious now. 

"I may have had an especially unusual dream a few nights ago. Apart from that, no dreams on my part, but I think I can still explain what's happening to you. I've felt it happening for months now, although I'm sure it's affecting me differently than it's affecting you."

Stiles groans when Peter stops talking and just looks at him. 

"Stop being vague and tell me!" 

"The dreams began after you and your friends brought back the Nemeton, yes? You probably didn't pay them much attention at first, with so many other issues on your mind. But that's when they started, and now that you don't have a Nogitsune occupying your mind and controlling your dreams, they've gotten more frequent. Am I correct?" 

Stiles nods impatiently, leans closer to Peter as he waits for the man to get to the point already. 

"And I wouldn't be surprised if there are other strange things happening to you lately. Things that make you wonder if you're going crazy or if there's something wrong with you." The wolf grins, and _Jesus, is he pausing for dramatic effect?_ Stiles would yell at him if it wouldn't just slow the conversation down more. 

"There's nothing wrong with you, Stiles. You're a spark." 

There’s a moment of silence while he waits for Peter to elaborate or explain himself, then Stiles realizes that’s not going to happen. 

“What?” 

Peter rolls his eyes like Stiles is being slow when he’s the one who’s being ridiculously vague and unforthcoming in his explanation. 

“A spark.” He repeats, then, “You’re aware now of the existence of Druids and the...magic of sorts they can perform through their connection to natural and supernatural forces. Well, it takes decades for most Druids to develop that connection, to learn how to utilize it. A spark is someone who already has a connection with nature and the supernatural, who doesn’t need to foster a relationship with magical forces because the forces already exist inside them. To put it simply, a spark is someone born with the ability to do magic naturally, instinctively.” 

Peter offers a serene smile, like he didn’t basically just tell Stiles that he’s a fucking wizard. Stiles thinks he gapes open-mouthed at the werewolf for a solid minute, but he’s not entirely sure because his mind is racing in an attempt to process what feels like a million different thoughts at once. Peter could be lying. He’s not remotely trustworthy, after all. He could be making up this elaborate story about sparks and Druids and magical powers as part of some evil plot, or just to screw with Stiles. And if he’s not lying, well. Stiles isn’t ready to consider that option yet. First things first. 

“Why should I believe you?” He demands. 

Faint smile still in place, Peter shrugs. “Why would I lie to you about this? You don’t have any evidence that I might be lying, or even a potential motive to explain why I would lie. Besides,” he adds, sounding way too smug for Stiles’ liking, “right now I’m the only person who can offer you answers. It’s in your best interest to at least consider that I’m telling the truth for now.” 

He has a point. Stiles doesn’t even have to trust him or believe him, he can just...take what Peter says into consideration. And remain skeptical for the time being, because when has Peter Hale ever been trustworthy or totally honest about something? 

“Okay, fine. Let’s assume you’re telling the truth. How do you know all of this and why are you showing up in my dreams?” 

The pleased look on the wolf’s face concerns Stiles. He doesn’t trust that taunting grin. “I’m sure you’ve heard stories of witches having familiars, yes?” Peter doesn’t seem to expect an actual answer, but Stiles nods anyways. “Familiars are most commonly depicted as cats, but in reality a familiar can be any creature capable of guiding and supporting someone with magical abilities. A werewolf can serve as a spark’s familiar, for example.” 

_You’ve got to be kidding me,_ Stiles thinks, staring blankly at Peter, disbelief clear in his tone when he says, “Are you trying to tell me you’re like my magical spirit guide?” 

Apparently that’s exactly what Peter is trying to tell him. He spends over an hour in the wolf’s apartment, asking questions and listening dubiously to the answers Peter provides him with. According to him, they have a supernatural/magical/otherwordly bond, because the universe hates Stiles and decided to assign him with a murderous werewolf for a familiar. That means they’ll share dreams sometimes- Stiles had cringed upon hearing this, remembering a very naked Peter on top of him- and that in time, they’ll become attuned to each other’s emotions and energy levels. Peter tells him that because he’d already figured out what was happening and knew how to handle it, he’s already been in touch with Stiles’ energy at times. He refuses to explain when, why, or how he’d done it. Seriously. The universe must hate him. 

Peter also explains that being a spark puts him in tune with the forces of nature, which is why plants and animals have been out to get him lately. It’s because they’re drawn to his spark or something like that. Supposedly the connection will come in handy once he learns to control and understand it. (He asks if that means he’ll be able to control plants and make them attack people or, better yet, make animals attack people. Peter is not amused.) After he’s been sitting there in Peter’s apartment for what feels like forever, the werewolf gives him two ancient looking books, one on alchemy of all things and the other on sparks and Druids. He’s instructed to read both books and come back to Peter’s in a week or once he finishes his reading, whichever comes first, to which he responds, “Don’t tell me what to do. Maybe I won’t ever come back. Or...or I’ll come back in eight days instead. You’re not the boss of me.” Secretly, Stiles decides he’ll be back as soon as possible. He’ll take whatever help he can get, even if it’s from his sociopathic zombie werewolf of a familiar. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not much happens in this chapter, just a further look into what Stiles being a spark means and lots of talking and reluctant bonding between Stiles and Peter.

Stiles feels hopeful when he drives home from Peter’s, like he has a new sense of purpose now that he knows what might be happening to him (assuming Peter is telling the truth, but Stiles is still unsure whether he should believe a word the werewolf says or not.) He has resources, the books Peter gave him and new terminology to look up online, he has a plan. Figure out how to handle being a spark if that’s really what he is, get his dreams and freaky powers under control, and at some point when he’s sure of what he is, what he can do, he’ll be able to let the rest of the pack know about it. 

_Hey Scott, I have magic powers and Peter is my familiar which means we have a special bond and dream about each other naked. Just thought you should know._ Stiles tries to imagine how that announcement will be received, but he’s honestly not sure. Scott might be happy if being a spark means Stiles is no longer the weak, defenseless human of the pack. He might get worried because the last time anything like this happened to Stiles, it didn’t end well, and Peter’s involvement only increases the chance of this ending with death and destruction too. A small part of Stiles wonders if the alpha will even care; Scott has other things to deal with, like school and trying to be a normal teenager, while also being a werewolf and defending his pack from other supernatural creatures. Stiles having some kind of magic abilities will be the last thing on his mind, on anyone’s mind. An even smaller part of him interrupts his train of thought to remind him that Stiles in general, with or without magic, is the last thing on anyone’s mind, will always be the last thing on anyone’s mind, no one wants to waste their time on the scrawny hyperactive human who has panic attacks too often and was weak enough to get possessed by a Nogitsune and- “No! Nope. We are not thinking about that right now, brain. Be quiet.” 

Talking, or making any kind of noise, is Stiles’ go to method for silencing negative thoughts when they get to be too much. He keeps talking to himself as he pulls into his driveway, whistles tunelessly when he gets out of the jeep, Peter’s books hugged to his chest. Before he heads inside he pauses, looking over at the vines growing along the side of his house. He remembers what Peter had said about the plants being drawn to him, just reacting to his spark and not trying to kill him like he’d suspected they were. 

He’s moving towards the plant and crouching down beside it even as he berates for suddenly trying to be some leaf whisperer, one with nature or something. _It’s not like you know what to do or how to understand what it wants,_ he reminds himself, but he still brushes his fingers along some of the ivy leaves, even greets the thing. 

“Hey there, creepy plant friend. Try not to attack my jeep today, okay?”

He has no clue what he’s doing, makes a half-assed attempt at opening his mind to what the plant might have to say before reminding himself plants don’t have anything to say because they’re _plants_ , they don’t talk. He gives up and goes inside pretty quickly, but at least it takes his mind off of the self pity party he’d been having in the car. 

 

Stiles finishes the books Peter gave him in one night. Then he takes another two days to read them both again, taking notes on whatever seems important or catches his interest, spends a few hours researching some of the material online, not that the internet offers him anything new or remotely relevant. It seems like Peter’s obscure, ancient looking books are his only source of information for the time being. Which is why, only three days after their talk, he drives to the werewolf’s apartment again. This time he’s armed with a list of questions he wants to ask Peter and his notes from the reading he’d done. 

Just like the last time, his first thought when Peter opens the door is _Oh my god I’ve been naked with him in my dreams so many times._ At least this time he manages not to bring it up. When Peter greets him with, “Back so soon? You must have missed me,” Stiles just snorts derisively to show what he thinks of that particular comment, then pushes past the werewolf and goes to make himself comfortable in the living room.

He’s in the process of laying out his notes and books on the table in front of him when Peter joins him, carrying two glass mugs and placing one of them down by Stiles without a word. Stiles doesn’t say anything either, just looks between the glass and Peter, his eyebrows raised and his expression incredulous as if to ask, “Really?”

“What?” Peter shoots him an equally withering look and takes a sip of his own drink. “I know you and your little pack are all uncivilized animals, but some of us were raised with manners. A good host offers his guests refreshments.”

This time when Stiles doesn’t speak for a minute, it’s because he doesn’t know what to say. Seriously, what? He doesn’t think Peter will ever cease to confuse and disturb (and annoy) him. He’s so prissy, Stiles would even say classy, for a murderous psychopath. He even drinks fancy tea, which Stiles discovers when he takes a cautious sip of his drink to avoid responding right away. Not that Stiles is a tea expert by any means, but it definitely tastes fancy and expensive to him. 

Stiles breaks the silence when he can no longer stand to just sit there, drinking tea while Peter stares at him. “So. I have a ton of questions to ask you. Question number one: how do I stop having this recurring dream with the Nemeton and you in it? Because it’s getting annoying and it’s actually been more like a nightmare since you started appearing in it.” Peter is giving him an unimpressed look and not returning Stiles’ grin, so he adds, “It’s a nightmare because I don’t like you, get it?”

He still doesn’t seem as amused as Stiles is. He lets out a long-suffering sigh. “See? You are completely uncivilized. I deserve respect as your familiar and the only person who can teach you about your spark.” Without pausing long enough for him to respond, Peter continues, “Dreams can be a means of communication with spirits, other living beings, or even with your own subconscious, the only part of you that can currently feel and control your abilities. Before you try to stop having this dream of yours, it’s important to understand what it means.”

Yeah, right. Stiles isn’t about to study dream interpretation and wait even longer for this weirdness to end. “It means I have magical powers and that you’re my familiar. Boom, dream understood. So how do I make it stop?”

“Fair enough. Meditation and honing your lucid dreaming skills will help you gain some control of your dreams and allow you to change the course of them, keep me out of them, or even summon me should you wish to communicate with me through dreams.” Peter smirks as he casually mentions that Stiles can _summon him in his freaking sleep_ , like he’d ever want the wolf appearing in his dreams. Which, no. Stiles refuses to even think about that, remaining silent and letting Peter continue. “I can lend you a book that will guide you in meditation and taking control of your subconscious mind.”

“Okay, next question. How do you know all this stuff? I mean I get that you have all these fancy old books and you know a lot about the supernatural, but how are you an expert on my specific situation? And why are you even helping me, anyways?”

“I’d already heard and read about sparks and their familiars when your powers were first awoken. I retrieved several of my family’s books on the topic and learned as much as I could as soon as I realized what was happening to you.” Peter admits. “I’m helping you because I have to. If you don’t learn to control your abilities, I’ll keep being dragged into your dreams and being bothered by your energy and emotions through our connection. I would prefer that didn’t happen.”

It’s a believable enough answer, Stiles thinks. He’s still not ready to trust Peter or believe every word he says, but he’s starting to think the wolf is at least telling the truth about this whole spark and familiar business. He consults his notes for his next question.

“So am I really going to become like a master Druid with all these hardcore magic powers? Will I be able to cast an immortality spell on myself and control the weather?”

Peter gives him another _look_ , like he finds Stiles ridiculous when he’s actually asking reasonable questions, okay? Who wouldn’t want to control the forces of nature?

 

They talk for hours this time, with Peter getting up at one point, retrieving a few more books from the book case in the room and bringing them over to help explain things to Stiles. The whole concept of sparks and Druids and familiars still seems way too complicated, but he gets all of his initial questions answered. They go over the difference between a spark and a Druid (a spark has innate powers and connections to nature, while a Druid has to learn and develop those connections. Also, Stiles can apparently become a Druid with enough learning and training, but no amount of training can turn a non-spark into a spark.) He also gets a better idea of some of the things he’ll be able to do with his abilities (hurt or kill various supernatural creatures, restrict the powers of supernatural creatures, heal people, protect his pack from all manner of spirits and monsters, communicate with animals, plants and spirits, and “many more complex things that you’ll come to understand later”, according to Peter.) This time he’s given a book about meditation and one about plants and their magical/supernatural properties. He also ends up going to look at all of Peter’s books himself, too curious to just take what’s offered to him, and when he finds the journal of some ancient Druid translated to English Stiles insists on borrowing that too. 

Stiles actually thanks Peter before he leaves, agreeing to return soon to work on meditating when he learns that having his familiar in close proximity will speed up his progress. It’s not like he has anything better to do, anyways, he figures. He might as well start hanging out with Peter Hale on the regular until he learns to control his spark.


End file.
